


Wildfire

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Copious Cockles [9]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst and Humor, Friendship/Love, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minncon, Misha's Attack, On Set, respectful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the attack, Misha just wants things to get back to normal ... Jensen just wants to see Misha safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story specifically requested by one of my followers who is having a really bad time right now. I hope it helped.

            The news spread too quickly—he didn’t even have time to get the story straight. Everyone just heard “mugging” and the tale was ablaze like a California hillside. He didn’t even realize it either—not until it was too late and he was getting a million calls from family and friends, all asking if he was still alive; but between the short texts he could send in route to the hospital and the clipped phone calls to his wife, Misha isn’t really surprised that everything combusted the way it did. He supposes, that shows just how much people care.

            Yet, with all the misconstrued stories and flat out lies being tossed around the internet, he knew he had to make a _public_ appearance; even though all he wanted to do was go home and sleep for several uninterrupted days. Instead, he stuck it out through his usual slot, signing autographs, taking photos—all just to prove he was fine and _no one_ needed to worry.

            But they worried anyway.

            Fans still came in for their photo ops and burst into tears at the sight of his stitches. His twitter was going non-stop _crazy_ —to the point where he finally had to turn off his phone because it was _useless_ given all the notifications. But of course, _that_ didn’t help when people who hadn’t done so yet, tried to reach him to ensure his well-being. After a while, he started to think _anything_ he did was just going to make things worse.

            All in all, it was _a fucking mess_ and Misha is just happy to be sitting in the hotel room now, drinking some tea with his feet propped up—awaiting the ibuprofen he took to kick in. He thinks, or he _hopes_ anyway _,_ that the worst of the storm has passed. He relayed the true events of what happened to Rich and Rob—knowing that they would find a _tactful_ way of spreading the word; and spread it quick enough that he won’t have to say too much more once he finally gets to leave Minneapolis. Maybe now, things will die down. Maybe now he can finally start gearing up to put this all behind him.

            A knock raps against his door.

            He groans. _Maybe not._ Misha pulls himself upright once more—feeling like it’s been fifty years since he’s actually gotten to sit down for more than a few minutes. Getting old isn’t funny—and getting injured while getting old is _downright stupid;_ but with some labored steps, and some _pops_ and _cracks_ , Misha finally arrives at the door, taking a deep breath and plastering on a fake smile before he turns the handle. The plaster quickly falls away, proving to be a mold for the real thing as the sight of his two best friends greets him through the opening.

            “Well, _you’re upright_ —so that’s good” Jensen laughs, quickly pushing the door open the rest of the way to wrap Misha in a hug. “Your face looks like shit though.”

            Misha grins, quickly wincing and grabbing at his lip. “ _Shut up_ , smiling hurts.”

            Jensen finally pulls back to bring his hand to Misha’s chin, moving his head around so he can take a better look. “Yeah, _well_ … that’s why I brought Jared—unless frowning hurts too, then your shit outta luck.”

            “Shut up” Jared parrots before shoving Jensen aside so he can throw his long arms around Misha’s shoulders and lift him off the ground.

            “ _Ow!_ Okay, okay! I’m kinda sore all over!”

            Jared chuckles and sets the bruised man down again, leaving his hand on his arm even as he backs away. “Yeah—I heard _face planting_ can take a toll on your whole body.”

            “It’s a fully body experience to belly flop into concrete, dude” Jensen quips, elbowing Jared playfully in the ribs.

            “True, true— _hey_ , what was your score? Ten out of ten? Was there minimal splash?” Jared asks, giving Misha a little shake as he laughs.

            “ _Ah_ —so I guess you both spoke with Rob then” Misha hums, choosing not to play into Olympic themed jokes … they would be here for days if the topic managed to work its way around to _speed walking_.

            “Yeah, they told us that those three dudes weren’t _half_ as threatening as the sidewalk.” Jared looks over his shoulder and gives Jensen a wink . “I guess that makes the whole _pie-in-the-face_ thing look pretty harmless now, doesn’t it?”

            Misha watches as their green eyed friend stills slightly—all his edges getting a little sharper.  But Jared doesn’t seem to notice at all—still grinning like the shaggy goof he is.

            Then the two men maneuver more inside so they can shut the door behind them, and Misha gives a grateful sigh, quickly turning around to head back to his comfy spot on the padded reading chair set up in the corner of the suite. Jensen takes a place in the matching seat to his right, while Jared pulls over the rolling office chair from the desk and sits down.

            “It sucks too—here we were thinking we were gonna get to roam the city for some ass to kick, but turns out, we just have to punch the pavement!” Jared yips, imitating the action against his fist.

            Misha rolls his eyes—wincing again, because _apparently_ , he can’t even be _snarky_ without it hurting. “Well, proceed with caution, Jared. You'll probably lose that fight.”

            “ _You_ certainly did” the man fires back, spinning around in his chair like a severely overgrown five year old.

            “ _Ha-ha_. Now, were you both here for an actual _reason,_ or just to tease me, because I have to tell ya—I need a good, long nap before I can even _begin_ to tolerate that.” He turns his gaze from Jared over to Jensen—noticing that his other friend has become rather quiet. And just as Jensen’s eyes meet his own, Misha finds that the smile on his face is shallow and turning down at the edges.

            “ _Nah_ —we’re just fuckin’ with you. We wanted to see how you were holding up, _really?_ I mean, all joking aside, that all had to be kinda freaky.”

            Jared’s words brings Misha’s focus back to him, but not before he offers a small smile to the friend at his right. “Yeah …” he finally says with a nod. “It all just happened really fast. It was over before I even knew what was going on. The guys just sorta _lunged_ at me from behind, grabbed my shit and ran.” Another quick glance at Jensen makes Misha hush—seeing how the guy's knuckles are turning white with his clenched fist—hinting that further details are probably not necessary.

            “That’s fucked up. What all did they take?” Jared continues, obviously curious about the details Misha now wants to avoid.

            “Just my wallet and my work phone, and the receipts I had in my pocket. I guess if they want to falsify a return sale on a diet coke and turkey sandwich from the airport, they’ll have all the proper documentation.”

            Jared chuckles and shakes his head, finally shooting a look over to Jensen, who still isn’t making a sound. Misha watches as their friend returns the gaze, and in their usual, almost _undetectable_ way—the two have a full-blown conversation with just a couple of blinks and an arch of a brow. Suddenly, Jared is clearing his throat and lifting himself from the chair. “Well, _listen man_ … I’m really glad you’re alright, and let me know if you need anything; but I gotta run and call Gen. I know she wanted an update about all of this.”

            Misha nods and gives another small smile—the best he can manage with the stitches in his lip. He knows that in a way, Jared is probably telling the truth—but the immediacy of the situation is most likely being exaggerated.

            After another quick clap on his shoulder, paired with a reassuring grin, the tall man is sauntering back out the door—the spinning chair being the only proof that he had been there at all.

            Once the _click_ of the latch fades, Misha turns his attention fully on Jensen—a little surprised to see that his friend is now avoiding his eyes completely “ _So_ … no sudden phone calls for _you?_ ” Misha asks after another moment. The silence feels too strange; his silences with Jensen are _never_ strange.

            The man just shakes his head—looking stiff and on edge, even as he leans back in the seat.

            Misha sighs, knowing that more jokes probably aren’t going to help things right now, so he chooses an alternate route. “Are you okay?”

            “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Jensen says, forcing out a laugh as he finally looks up.

            “ _Nah_ —you can see that _I’m fine_. _The picture of health_ … if that picture is a little rumpled and water stained, that is.”

            “Not funny, Mish.”

            Misha gets up, trying hard not to grit his teeth with the pinch of his own nerves—knowing that Jensen would most likely see it. Soon, he’s grabbing the arm of the rolling chair and wheeling it in front of his friend’s knees, settling down again so they can be face to face. “I wasn’t joking, Jensen. _I’m fine._ Totally fine.”

            “No you’re not! Look at you!” Jensen yelps, quickly bending forward to cup his hand against Misha’s cheek.

            With a soft laugh, Misha slides his fingers over Jensen’s as they tremble on the bruise swelling the left half of his face. “I’ve looked worse, _believe me_.”

            “Well, _I’ve_ never seen it, so this looks pretty bad to me” Jensen groans, but his final words fall into a whisper at the end; and Misha finds himself a little breathless at the tiny hint of water in the corner of the man’s eye.

            “ _Jensen_ …”

            “I was _so_ _fucking_ _worried_ ” Jensen cuts in, dropping his hand to Misha’s knee as he looks away a moment to blink out the filling streams.

            “I’m sorry, I _should_ have—”

            Jensen whips his head back, glaring at him—mouth slightly open, almost like he’s disgusted. “Don’t apologize! You don’t need be sorry for a _fucking_ thing. Those assholes jumped you and you didn’t even have a chance!” Jensen’s fists his hand once more, practically vibrating them against Misha’s leg. “If I was there— _fuck,_ I wish I could've been there! Those dicks would’ve been sorry!”

            “ _Jen_ …” Misha begins again, really wishing his friend wouldn’t talk like this. More aggression certainly won’t help a thing.

            “ _No!_ It’s not right! They just fucking jump you and _leave_ you there? I mean, who the fuck does that? _Seriously?_ When I heard what happened to you, I—” Jensen cuts himself short now, looking down as he tightens up a little more—his jaw twitching on muted words and memories he obviously isn’t ready to share.

            “That must've been really worrying for you. I—I wish I was able to tell everyone right away that I was fine … _really_ , it sounded a lot worse than it was. I just didn’t get a chance to reach out until _after_ things went crazy.” Misha desperately wants to apologize again but he doesn’t, knowing how Jensen will react.

            “Even if I talked to you a second after it happened, Mish …” Jensen peeks back at him, still looking angry, but hopelessly scared all at once. “I would’ve _still_ gone out of my mind.” His eyes shy away once more—tears all ready to fall.

            The sight brings Misha to his knees, slipping from his chair and scurrying right in front of his friend, wrapping loving arms around him to stroke Jensen’s hair. “ _Hey, hey, hey_ … no going out of your mind, okay? It’s not allowed … I like you _sane_. It’s very appealing to me.” Misha pulls back and kisses Jensen on the cheek, smiling larger than he should, but the stinging in his lip is the furthest thing from his mind right now.

            “I don’t like this” Jensen whispers, lifting his hand to loosely gesture at Misha’s torn up features, just before sweeping back to wipe the wet from his eyes.

            “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m not a fan of it either. My lip is too swollen to really feel anything when I do _this_ …” Misha leans in and lays a soft kiss on Jensen’s mouth—his thumb stroking afterwards, loving the feel of his friend’s stubble against his fingers; wishing for all the world that he had been doing _this_ yesterday instead of walking outside of that restaurant.

            “It’s gonna heal, right?” Jensen asks—sounding far too small for being so close.

            Misha chuckles, pulling Jensen in once more as he nods against him. “Yeah—I’ll probably just have a scar there—but that’s okay … chicks dig scars”

            Jensen huffs out a laugh and shrugs before wrapping his arms around Misha’s waist. “Well, _I_ kinda dig scars too.”

            A soft nuzzle of their noses eases the last of the tension from the air, and everything is finally feeling right again—giving credence to Misha’s insatiable need to joke. “Yeah … like I said, _chicks dig ‘em_.”

            Apparently, even though he’s injured, Jensen still has _no qualms_ about smacking Misha on the back of the head.

 

***

 

            “Okay, _Misha_ … we need you on your mark!” Bob yells and Misha hops out of his chair, a little excited to be doing this scene today. Their focused director nods at him once he’s in place and then swings his hand above his head to signal that everyone else should be getting ready to roll. Blue eyes watch as the crew starts to bustle around him, and cameras straighten out and zoom in on his face for the first shot. He’s a little surprised though when he sees Jensen just off to the side— _the guy didn’t even have to film today._

            “Alright, everyone ready?” Bob calls out again, not even waiting for a reply before he flicks his finger to start to take.

            Misha takes a beat to focus back on point, picking up his lines maybe a little too hesitantly, but thankfully—Cas is never in _too_ _much_ of a rush to get out his thoughts. The first shoot goes pretty well and Misha only has to redo it twice so they can have a variety for editing; but the next part of the scene is going to be more complicated—it’s a fight scene and he always is a little weary of those, even though—they're a lot of fun to shoot.

            “Alright, where are my demons? Demons one, two and three—where are you? I need you in your places!” There’s a little edge to Bob’s tone and Misha knows that he needs to get this right the first time—whatever is pissing the man off really doesn’t need to turn around on _him_. “Good … _alright_ , now Misha?”

            Misha turns and raises his brow at the director, waiting for instruction.

            “You need to come at those three _straight_ down the middle so they can crowd around you” Bob begins, standing from his chair to pantomime Misha’s intended actions. “Then we’ll cut and set it up for you to burst from the center of the mayhem.”

            Misha nods and quickly looks down at the ground, mentally judging how many steps it’s going to take before he meets the three extras that are awaiting him across the set. He actively chooses not to look to his left—even though he feels Jensen’s eyes weighing on him.

            Bob carries on, now turning to the three other actors playing the demons—two nice guys named David and Harris, and an impossibly sweet girl named Lacey. Misha smiles at her and she gives him a tiny wave before turning back to focus on Bob. It’s _hilarious_ … they got a literal _angel_ to play a demon, and they have _him_  playing an angel. Supernatural is a weird ass show. “Alright, I want David and Harris to jump on top of Misha … while Lacey … I want you to kind of jump up between them and barrel an elbow down on his neck, just like you practiced before.”

            Misha watches as Lacey nods, a pleasant little grin on her face. _Oh the irony._

            “Great, let’s run it through organically one time, just to see how it all flows, and then we’ll start tweaking things. That sound good to everyone?” The cast and crew all respond with thumbs ups and hums of approval; and Misha takes this chance to sneak a peek back at Jensen. The man has moved in closer, arms folded across his chest … his jaw twitching eagerly—and Misha notices that he is looking past him now, apparently—at _Lacey_ and the other two. “Good, let’s do it!” Bob breaks in, snapping Misha back into character.

            As soon as the red lights flick on, Misha’s face turns to stone and he begins his paces towards the three figures ahead, all looking _far more_ sinister than they did just a moment ago—Lacey especially. The “demons” charge his direction, but Misha remains steady, ducking at the last possible moment—just as Harris and David come down on him. Everything goes dark beneath the two, large bodies—which makes the sudden, searing pain at the top of his spine all the more shocking.

            “Oh my god! _Misha!_ I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Lacey’s voice comes out in a piping shrill panic just as the other two climb off him again and light bursts back into focus.

            “ _Yeah_ … yep” Misha groans, trying to sound convincing but the notch at the base of his neck is throbbing hard and it’s causing all his nerves to sing. Yet, before he can even reach up to rub it, strong hands are gripping his shoulders and pulling him back to his feet.

            “Mish! Misha, _buddy_ … are you okay?” Jensen’s voice is deep and gritty, and almost too loud for Misha to comprehend. “What the _hell_ did you do?”

            Misha looks up to see Jensen glaring at Lacey as the girl cowers, mouth flapping on silent words—eyes, paralyzed in fear.

            “Jen … I’m fine” Misha laughs, more to try and diffuse the man instead of actually feeling like it.

            “No you’re not! You can’t even stand up straight! I’m taking you back to your trailer!” Jensen barks, and with that, Misha is being hauled away—all his protests getting aptly ignored. But before he can yank himself free, Jensen turns back mid stride, furious green eyes searching the room behind them. “ _Bob!”_ Jensen shouts just as they reach the large entrance to the stage, “ _Tighten this shit up!_ People are getting hurt!” And Misha can only gape as Jensen stares down the other man—puffing up his chest—nostrils flaring, like he’s all ready to fight.

            He stays silent the rest of the way to his trailer, knowing that Jensen needs to breathe a bit before any sense can be talked into him. When they finally reach the door, Jensen whips it open like he has a grudge against _it_ too—not even flinching as the handle leaves a dent in the metal. Misha on the other hand, winces hard.

            They file inside—Misha shutting them in and taking a deep, long, _not very relaxing_ breath before he starts to speak to his fuming friend. “ _Jensen_ … what the hell was all that about?”

            Jensen turns around, glaring at him like he’s an idiot. “You got hurt!” he spits, throwing out an arm to point in the direction of Misha’s neck.

            “It was an _accident_ —and you _yelled_ at Lacey for it! That girl is probably a mess right now!” Misha retorts—his hands finding their way to his hips; and he suddenly feels like he’s talking to West, not Jensen.

            “She should've been more careful” Jensen hisses, but recoils immediately after, as if he’s just now realizing how harsh he’s been.

            Misha softens slightly as well, inching forward a little while trying to catch his friend’s dropping gaze. “Jensen, what is all this about?”

            Jensen steps away as his friend advances again—shrugging and flushing red as he stares at his own feet. “You got hurt” he repeats feebly.

            Misha opens his mouth for another lecture, but snaps it shut once more—realizing that Jensen isn’t talking about what happened on set just now … this isn’t about Lacey or Bob, or extra time needed with choreographing ... that was all just insult to old injury. “Jensen, that was over a month ago … _I’m fine_.”

            The man shakes his head before turning his back, walking towards the other end of the trailer to where the bedroom is, plopping down tiredly on the edge of the mattress.

            With a sigh, Misha follows, wishing he could just crawl inside Jensen’s head—because whenever he gets like this, getting him to talk is like pulling teeth. “Jen, you can’t _hover_ over me every time there’s a chance something could happen … I’m not your kid” Misha says, sitting down beside his friend and nudging his shoulder. “ _Although_ , I feel bad for JJ now … she's never going to be able to get away with _anything_.”

            Jensen shoots him a look that shuts Misha up instantly.

            “Sorry …" he starts again after he lets the quiet ease things, "but you know what I’m saying, right? What happened, _happened_. And thankfully, nothing really horrible happened as a result.”

            “I thought it did …”

            The words are so quiet, Misha practically misses them. “What?” he asks, still wanting to be clear on what Jensen had said.

            “I thought it was really bad.”

            Misha looks the man over—he seems practically breakable now, nothing close to the fierce, red-hot iron that he was before. “What? When I was in Minneapolis?”

            Jensen nods slightly, taking in a shaky breath.

            Misha smiles—sad and slow, finally reaching out to rub at the base of Jensen’s spine—completely forgetting about the dull pain in his own. “What did you _think_ happened?”

            Jensen shakes his head once more, looking away and Misha can feel his heart beating throughout his body.

            “Jensen?”

            His friend swallows hard, sounding like there are rocks in his throat, and he’s doing his best to force words around them. “ _I thought_ … when I got the call that you were attacked. I thought it was really …”

            “You thought it was worse than it was?” Misha adds, hoping the extra words will help. The way Jensen’s body wilts is all the answer he needs.

            “I just had these images in my head … you … _beat up_. I – I felt sick.”

            Misha lets out a breath, finally leaning his head against Jensen’s shoulder, feeling him soften beneath his weight. Soon, he's turning his body in so they can fall against each other—warm and weary. The new position allows Misha to press his face into that freckled neck, inhaling the smell before kissing it lightly. “I’m sorry. I should have called you sooner and let you know everything instead of having you hear it second hand.”

            “Yeah …” Jensen says, shocking Misha a little—he was expecting the guy to tell him to stow his apologies again. “But I still wouldve been freaking out until I got to see you myself … I’m kind of a worrier.”

            Misha chuckles, sliding his cheek along Jensen’s shirt and sinking in. “You? _No!”_

            “ _Shut up_ ” Jensen snips, shoving Misha off of him with a nudge.

            “Why don’t you _make me?”_ Misha chimes, letting a little _flirt_ sneak into his tone.

            “Oh, you wanna go?” Jensen is yanking him down before Misha can think of another witty comeback.

            It doesn’t take long at all for the two to be rolling around on the bed—Jensen finally crouching on top of him, lips hovering over his own—hot breathes smoothing over his skin. Misha wriggles down, _loving this_ , wanting all their moments to be like this. It’s light and easy … it’s everything.

            But just as he thinks all is righting itself, Jensen’s face falls once more—his eyes closing as he drops his forehead against the man below him. “I don’t want to lose this, Misha” he whispers— _so tender_ , it breaks Misha in two.

            His hands waste no time in cupping Jensen’s jaw, pulling him down into reassuring kisses and desperate pleas. “ _Hey_ … none of that, okay? You aren’t losing anything. You hear me? _Not a thing_.”

            Jensen nods but Misha can tell, the man is _still_ worked up. So with a small push, he moves his friend onto his side, wrapping him in a full body hug—legs and arms locking Jensen in so there’s no possible way to escape; but by the way he hugs him back, Misha thinks Jensen isn’t planning on going anywhere. They stay this way a long time—both silent and unmoving, except for small grips on the other’s shirt, ensuring that they are both still there—still needing the feel of the other beneath their touch. If it isn’t for the light tap on Misha’s door, they probably could have stayed that way all afternoon. Jensen sighs, pulling back from the warm body he’s tangled with—a little frown on his face.

            “I should get back to the scene …” Misha offers, smiling slightly, trying to urge to Jensen to do the same

 _It works_ —but it’s a meager one at best. “Yeah, yeah okay.”

            Misha let’s out a deep breath before giving his friend’s arm a squeeze and wriggling off the bed, standing up and turning back to look at Jensen once more—still curled up atop his comforter. “You know?” Misha begins, feeling suddenly _very_ reluctant to leaving the man. “You should come with me.”

            Jensen chuckles and shakes his head “That’s okay … like you said, you don’t need a watch dog.”

            Misha laughs—reaching out to slap Jensen’s leg, finally pulling at it and yanking him to the edge of the bed. “Not for that! You need to apologize to Lacey! _And Bob_ … unless you want to go work on the set of The Vampire Diaries from now on!”

            Jensen’s face turns white as Misha’s words sink in, and before another thing can be uttered, the man is out the door, calling for Bob at the top of his lungs.

            Misha doesn’t think he’s ever seen the guy move so fast.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find my on tumbler at: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me.
> 
> Check out the rest of my Ao3 for more Cockles and Destiel fluff, smut and feels!


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